


Darkness Descends

by mydeira, Sadbhyl



Series: Responsible Adults (aka, The Menageaverse) [79]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-11
Updated: 2013-04-11
Packaged: 2017-12-08 04:35:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/757110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydeira/pseuds/mydeira, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sadbhyl/pseuds/Sadbhyl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Giles returns with potentials in tow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Darkness Descends

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published September 12, 2005
> 
> Spoilers through “Bring On The Night”. Like pulling teeth. Why are some chapters just so damn slow in coming? But in the end, they turn out to be worth it. Thank you to [](http://sadbhyl.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://sadbhyl.livejournal.com/)**sadbhyl** for putting up with much whining and keeping me from giving it up.

Giles had been through hell the last few weeks, trying to track down information on the Harrowing. It hadn’t been easy, and what he found was anything but promising. The only good thing about the entire trip was that he had been able to break into the Council a few short hours before it blew up, managing to save a few irreplaceable texts. Unfortunately, they only confirmed what he already knew. If the destruction of the Council weren’t enough to spur him into action, Robeson’s dying words were plenty.

He was lucky if he managed to catch two hours of sleep every night. Speed was of the essence. The first three potentials he located had already been brutally slain by the First’s emissaries. Finding Annabelle and Molly still alive but shaken had given him some hope. When he barely managed to get to Kennedy, the Bringers already having savaged her Watcher, Giles realized it was time to head back to Sunnydale and let Buffy and the others know how grave the peril was that they were facing. And, he realized, he couldn’t do this alone.

The girls were driving him crazy with their constant bickering. Annabelle tried to keep the other two in line, but this only seemed to aggravate Kennedy all the more. Independent and tough. It was frightening how much she reminded him of Faith. They never gave him a moment’s peace. Somehow he didn’t remember teenagers being this trying. But time did dull one’s memory, lessening the impression of pain over time.

With a sigh of relief, Giles crossed the city line into Sunnydale. He had never been more glad to see the cursed town.

“So what’s she like, the Slayer?” Molly piped up eagerly.

“She’s . . . Buffy,” he replied, because there really wasn’t any other reply. Buffy was Buffy.

“One of the longest living slayers and that’s all you can tell us is her name?” Kennedy said derisively.

“Now that’s no way to talk to Mr. Giles,” Annabelle chastised. “I’m certain he has his reasons. And we’ll find out for ourselves soon enough.”

Hard pressed not to sigh, Giles focused on the road, tuning out the girls as best as he could.

They reached Revello Drive some five minutes or so later. He watched the house he knew so well, getting lost in his thoughts.

“Mr. Giles? Mr. Giles?”

“Hm?” He turned toward Annabelle and found her looking at him expectantly.

“Should we bring our things or leave them here?”

“Best leave them here for now.”

He got out of the car, leaving the girls to follow.

He had just set foot on the doormat and was about to knock when the door opened.

Buffy gaped at him. “Giles?”

“Hello, Buffy, I—” but the rest of what he was going to say died on his tongue as Joyce appeared over the girl’s shoulder. The look on her face couldn’t be described as anything other sheer disbelief.

“Rupert?” she spoke his name as if it were a plea.

It hit him then just how caught up in everything he had been. He hadn’t talked to them in over two weeks.

When Ethan joined the now growing crowd at the front door, he, too, looked relieved. But only for a moment. His eyes narrowed. “I hope you’re bloody well aware of the fact that I am going to kill you, Ripper.”

Buffy’s eyebrows drew together in confusion, and she glanced back at her mother and Ethan for an explanation.

Ethan clarified with a snort. “Our darling Rupert seems to have forgotten how to use the telephone. A courtesy that is even more important in times such as these.”

Joyce still couldn’t seem to believe that he really there. She reached out to touch him, as if to reassure herself that he was really there, but he was shoved rudely out of the way as the young girls he had rescued brushed past the lot of them into the house, led by Kennedy.

“So, this is a slayer,” she observed derisively as she moved inside, Molly and Annabelle following apologetically behind.

“Giles, what is going on?” Buffy asked, her words carefully measured.

Six pairs of eyes focused on him once more.

“It seems that we have a slight apocalypse on our hands,” he replied. It was the truth.

 

 

He didn’t get the chance until well after sunrise the next day to attempt anything resembling an apology to Joyce and Ethan.

After lengthy meeting in the Summers’ living room where he filled everyone in on what he had been up to the last few weeks and they brought him up to date with the games the First had been playing, Giles had set out with Buffy to go looking for the First’s lair. Not the wisest move in retrospect, considering the Turok-han Buffy was fortunate to escape, but it gave them both the opportunity to get out of the house and breathe for a bit.

“It’s still pretty early. I don’t think it’s necessary to pull everyone out of bed at this hour,” Buffy said, the all-business tone more than a little forced as she lead the way up her back porch.

For possibly only the second time in her life, she had met an opponent she couldn’t physically hold her own against. He knew she was deeply shaken by the encounter.

“It’ll give us a chance to—” Her words faded into silence as they entered the kitchen and found the three potentials making themselves at home.

“Sorry, about all this,” Annabelle said sheepishly. “It’s four o’clock back home, and we were feeling peckish. Didn’t want to trouble your mum any.”

“Oh, um, that’s okay,” Buffy said distractedly, heading over to the freezer and wincing as she opened the door.

“What happened to you?” Kennedy asked her, the words garbled through a mouth full of cereal.

“That’s what I’d like to know. Giles?” Buffy looked at him expectantly. “You were all vague with the details on the way home. It was a vamp, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, but . . .” He looked pointedly at the three young girls eagerly watching their exchange. “Maybe we should discuss this privately?”

“They’re a part of this as much as I am. They should know what we’re up against.”

“Of course they should. I just thought that—nevermind.” He had wanted to bring Buffy up to speed first, make her realize that she needn’t feel so humiliated by the encounter. Because she was humiliated. But it had never been his place to comfort or coddle her, whatever instinct told him.

“What you fought was indeed a vampire, but it is also more than a vampire. It is a Turok-Han.” He went on to tell them about how the Turok-Han was a primitive form of vampire, a superior form in some respects, more strength in exchange for less higher functions. Previously thought to be a myth. But like many things they had encountered over the years, it had turned out to be quite real.

“Just once it would be nice for the bad guy to work alone,” Buffy grumbled. “At least we know the sun still affects it. So we should be fine until sunset.”

“Wait, you didn’t slay it?” Kennedy exclaimed. “It’s still just a vamp, isn’t it?”

Buffy whirled on the girl. “If it was just a vamp, we wouldn’t be having this conversation, would we?” she said, anger flashing in her eyes.

Giles had suspected Kennedy would be a problem. He rather hated being right.

“So, wh-what are we going to do?” Molly asked hesitantly.

“You guys are going to sit tight. And I am going to work.”

“Buffy, you’re exhausted,” Giles stepped forward, cutting off her exit. “You need to get some rest.”

She looked up at him, eyes tired and world weary. “Giles, I need to keep going. The First isn’t going to rest. I can’t either.”

With nothing more to say, she left them to get ready for her day.

A moment later, Ethan’s voice came from the living room. “Rough night, Slayer?”

“Not today, Ethan, please,” was the half-hearted response.

Ethan entered the kitchen and immediately sought Giles out, not sparing a glance at the potentials who had gone back to raiding Joyce’s food stores. “The Hellmouth give you a nice welcome back, I take it?”

“Turok-Han.”

His lover’s eyes widened in surprise. “Not pulling any punches, is It?” he said at last.

“Sadly, no,” Giles sighed, suddenly feeling very exhausted.

“You might want to think about taking your own advice, mate,” Ethan recommended, concern heavy in his voice. “Go on up, have a bit of a lie in.”

“As much as I’d like to, Buffy has a point. The First won’t rest.”

“Doesn’t matter much if you’re dead on your feet. I can’t imagine the last few weeks have given you much down time.” There was an underlying note of accusation in the words.

“I should have called, regardless,” Giles conceded.

“We’ll discuss that later,” Ethan said, a small smirk touching on his lips. “Go and get some sleep. I can research just as well as you, remember? And as an extra bonus, I’ll keep an eye on these savages for you.”

Giles rested a hand on Ethan’s shoulder meaningfully, surprised at the start his lover gave at the contact. He ignored the reaction; he had probably just imagined it. “Thank you, Ethan.”

Ethan shrugged. “Don’t mention it, Ripper. I’ll think of some way for you to make it up to me.”

Giles left the kitchen, grinning as he caught the faint girlish whisper of: “You don’t think they . . . but isn’t the one with Buffy’s mum?”

It wasn’t until he actually set foot on the stairs and started to ascend that he realized just how appealing even a quick nap was at this point. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been able to catch a few uninterrupted hours. Getting away from it all, even for just a little while, would do wonders.

Giles had his hand on the door knob of Joyce’s room when it occurred to him that she might not be up yet and likely wouldn’t take to kindly to his joining her in bed, all things considered. Any other time, he doubted she would mind. But her reaction when he arrived yesterday puzzled him, as if she really didn’t think it was him, that it couldn’t be him, that . . . Suddenly, Ethan’s reaction to his touch in the kitchen made much more sense. Neither Joyce nor Ethan had shown much surprise at the destruction of the Council. If they had perhaps seen that on the news, it was no wonder that they might think the worst after his lack of contact. Would it have been so damn difficult for him to pick up the phone and place a quick call? Frankly, Giles was surprised Ethan hadn’t decked him on sight.

Well, he couldn’t avoid Joyce forever, so Giles took a deep breath and entered Joyce’s bedroom. The bed was empty. And the running water from the bathroom shower was a good indication as to why.

It wouldn’t do to slip in the bed and have her come out to find him there, so he sat in the chair near her dresser instead. He could possible catch a few winks before she came out and he had to explain himself. Leaning his head back against the wall, Giles closed his eyes and promptly forgot the world around him.

 

 

“Rupert?”

He sat up, awake in an instant, though it took a moment to realize where he was and who was talking to him. Scanning the room, he found Joyce eyeing him curiously from the foot of the bed. She wasn’t dressed yet, his old green terrycloth was cinched around her, but her hair was styled and makeup done for the day.

“I didn’t mean to nod off,” he said, nothing else coming to mind to explain himself at the moment.

“I was just startled to find you there,” she said quietly, not moving from where she stood.

Something about her distance was bothering him. Cautiously, Giles stood and walked toward her. When he was within a foot of her, she took a step backward, away from him.

“Joyce, what’s the matter?” He reached for her, but she drew away from his grasp.

“Jenny Calendar paid me a visit, Rupert,” Joyce replied, turning away from him. Her voice wavered when she spoke again. “Of course, I know now that it wasn’t her, that it was the First. I knew that night, but . . .”

Not that he had forgotten Jenny, he couldn’t do that, but the truth of the matter was he hadn’t thought about her in quite some time. Life indeed went on. It still hurt to think back on that time, always would, he supposed, but the intensity of it had dulled with time. He still occasionally had the nightmares, of coming home and finding her lifeless in his bed, a gift from Angelus. In recent years though, it was no longer Jenny he came home in the dream to find, but Joyce and, every so often, Ethan, in seeming peaceful repose but for the unnaturally bent neck. And always the smell of roses, cloying and overwhelming his senses with their sweet scent turned sickly by death.

Shaking off thoughts he neither had the time nor inclination to pursue, “What did she—It say?” Giles asked carefully.

“It doesn’t really matter. Just mind games.” Her shoulders were hunched forward as if under some great weight, or to protect herself from something.

“Joyce, I need to know what’s wrong. It appears that what that thing said matters to you very much. I can’t help if you won’t talk to me,” he pleaded, stepping up behind her and setting his hands lightly on her shoulders.

She jumped at his touch much the same as Ethan had, her intake of breath sharp and audible. “Oh god, please tell me I’m not imagining it.”

“What did she say, Joyce?” He gently turned her to face him, the light catching in the tears trailing over her cheeks. Instinctively, Giles reached up to brush the tears away.

“I-I was convinced you were dead.” She swallowed, trying to compose herself. “You hadn’t called in so long, and not long after she—It visited, I saw the wreckage of the Council on television. It was too much not to think that—”

Giles wrapped his arms around Joyce and held her tightly against his chest. “You don’t know how incredibly sorry I am about that.”

“Things are just so, so strange right now. It feels different this time, like maybe this really is the end,” she murmured against his chest.

“You can’t start thinking like that,” he said, lifting her chin so that she had no choice but to look at him. “We’ll find a way to beat this thing. We always do.”

He could tell from the look in her eyes that she believed his words as much as he did, which meant not in the slightest. So he just held her, trying to give her what comfort he could.

Giles couldn’t say for certain how much time passed before Ethan joined them.

“Careful, Ripper, or I may think that dead on your feet look was just for show,” his lover commented wryly from the doorway.

Joyce gave a quiet laugh and pulled back, wiping at her eyes as she glanced at Ethan. “Please don’t ever change,” she told him. Then she looked back at Giles. “You really do look like you could fall asleep where you stand. Get some rest, we can talk later.”

“Later.” He grimaced and sat heavily on the bed. “I’m not certain how much time we will have to talk later.”

In any other situation, Joyce and Ethan’s identical frowns would have been comical.

“You’re leaving to go find more, aren’t you?” Ethan said, shaking his head.

“Rupert, no,” Joyce said in quiet denial. “You just got back.”

“I have to. Someone has to help them,” Giles stated plainly, not looking at either of his lovers.

“You aren’t going alone this time,” Ethan jumped in.

“Yes, I am,” he said forcefully. “I have to. We can’t risk weakening our numbers here. Not now, not with the First growing stronger every day.”

“What about Xander?” Joyce ventured.

Both he and Ethan looked at her in surprise.

“Neither of you would notice, maybe it takes a mother’s eye, I don’t know. But he doesn’t feel a part of things. Every single one of his friends has something they can bring to this fight, even Anya has her years as a demon to draw upon,” she explained. “The only time I see him really come to life is when the house gets attacked. And while a frequent occurrence, he shouldn’t have to hope for that to feel of use.”

“Anya would have Rupert’s balls,” Ethan said.

And Giles had to agree. He couldn’t see Anya being happy with Xander leaving, let alone being put in even graver danger. “I can’t ask that of him,” he said, finally.

“Think about it, Rupert, please.” The way she said it, it wasn’t a request. “You have no idea what it would mean to him. And having someone else out there looking for those girls can’t hurt, can it?”

“I suppose it wouldn’t. But it’s Xander, Joyce, he—”

“Just think about it,” she cut off his protestations.

Then something occurred to him. “Is that how you feel, Joyce? That you don’t have anything to contribute?”

“I’m not a fighter,” she replied, neither confirming nor denying what he said. “I’m a mother. I worry, and I care. Speaking of which, I should go check on those girls. And you need to get some rest.” She bent down and gave him a gentle kiss, then walked back to the bathroom, presumably to finish getting ready and going downstairs.

“It’s not a half bad idea, you know,” Ethan said when she’d gone.

“Taking Xander?” Giles watched Ethan closely for any signs that he was joking. But it appeared that he wasn’t.

“With two of you out there looking, you stand a better chance of getting to more of those before the First does.”

Giles couldn’t fault the logic. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good,” Ethan said soberly. Then he flashed his trademark smirk. “Now get some rest. You look like hell.”

As always, Ethan could put things into perspective.  



End file.
